Memories Seep From My Veins
by spencershotchner
Summary: Spencer wants to use, and Aaron tries to help. Spoilers for 8x12: Zugzwang.


Aaron Hotchner had just finished cleaning up the dishes from his dinner when his cellphone rang. A glance at the screen told him that it was Spencer Reid. He pressed the _talk _button. "Hotchner," he answered crisply.

"Hotch?" Reid said. His voice was quiet and shaking.

"Reid, what's wrong? Has something happened?" Hotch immediately slipped into FBI mode, grabbing his gun off of the coffee table and grabbing his suit jacket. A shaky inhale came across the line.

"I... I shouldn't have called."

"Reid, what's going on?" Aaron demanded.

He was silent for a moment. "There's a—a vial of Dilaudid sitting on my coffee table." Hotch's heart sunk down to somewhere near his knees. Spencer didn't sound high, but he had managed to hide it before...

"I'll be there in ten minutes. _Do not move_." Once Spencer said _okay_, albeit reluctantly, Aaron hung up and hurried to his car. He briefly considered turning on the siren so that he could get through traffic, but he knew that Spencer would berate him for the unnecessary use of status.

During the drive, his mind raced. All he could think about was Spencer sitting in his living room with a needle sticking out of his arm. He had wondered if Maeve's death would push him to this, and he had _really_ hoped that it wouldn't come to this. It had, though, and Aaron was grateful that Spencer had called him and not another member of the team.

It had hurt when Aaron had learned that Spencer had a girlfriend. He had been pining after his youngest Agent for nearly five years now. For a while, he had believed that Spencer had feelings for him as well, but then Maeve happened. Now it seemed like Spencer didn't have feelings for anything at all anymore.

Aaron made it to Spencer's apartment building in just under eight minutes. He hurried into the building and up the stairs as fast as he could without drawing unwanted attention to himself. He used the key that he had and unlocked the door.

The small apartment was in ruin. There were books strewn everywhere—on the floor, on the coffee table and the armchair, and on the kitchen table... All of the curtains were drawn, throwing the apartment into darkness that was only alleviated by the single lamp that was turned on near the couch where Spencer sat, crosslegged.

His head was bowed forward and his arms were wrapped protectively around his body. The vial of Dilaudid sat in the middle of the coffee table on top of a battered copy of 'War and Peace'. An unopened needle lie beside it.

Hotch toed off his shoes and hung his jacket on the peg next to the door. "Spencer," he called out, and the younger man jerked slightly as if he had been slapped.

"Get rid of it," he said. "Please."

Hotch gladly took the vial and the needle to the bathroom, where he proceeded to dump the contents into the toilet. He flushed and then rinsed the vial with water before tossing it in the trash with the needle. He tied the top of the trash bag into a knot. When he left, he would take it to the dumpster outside.

When he re-entered the living room, Spencer was still in the same position as before. Aaron sighed and moved the books off of the coffee table and sat down on it. His knees brushed Spencer's. They sat in silence for several minutes.

"How did you do it?" Spencer finally asked, looking up at his boss. His hazel eyes were filled with unshed tears. His face was bright red and blotchy; he had been crying.

"Do what, Spencer?" Hotch asked.

"Get past it," he replied, "get through the all-consuming grief."

Hotch reached out and took one of Spencer's bony hands in his own and squeezed. "It takes time," he said, and Spencer winced. "I know that's not the answer that you want to hear, but it's the truth. It takes time, and a hell of a lot of it." Aaron sighed. "It took me nearly a year and half to come to terms with the fact that it's not my fault that Haley's dead. I had to accept that even if I had made the deal with Foyet, he would have found a way through the deal. Hardest of all, I had to accept that _Foyet_ killed her, _not me_.

"Diane shot Maeve, Spencer," Hotch told him quietly, and Spencer flinched again. "You didn't hurt her, and you didn't kill her."

"I don't want to get through it," Spencer said, watching the movement of Aaron's thumb across the back of his hand. "I just want to forget it ever happened and never think about it again, but I can't. My mind won't _stop_, Hotch. It won't turn off. I'm not sleeping, so I don't even have that luxury." A few tears slipped down his cheek, and Aaron had to fight with himself to not brush them away.

"The Dilaudid is the only thing you know that will dull your thoughts," Hotch said. It wasn't a question. Spencer nodded. "You know it's not going to get any easier if you put it off. You also know that it will make it ten times harder if you slip back into using." Spencer looked away and chewed at his already ragged bottom lip.

"I know." Spencer took a shaky breath. Hotch could literally see him beginning to fall apart right before his eyes. "I just wish that I didn't _have _to know."

"I'm not going to tell you that it won't always hurt in some manner," Aaron said as he squeezed Spencer's hand. "But I can tell you that eventually you will be able to think about her and not want to burst into tears." Spencer turned back to look at him.

"When will that happen?" Hotch wished he could give him a definite answer.

"I don't know, Spencer," he finally said. "I really don't know."

The wall Spencer had built up around himself the moment Aaron had stepped into the apartment shattered and his body shook as he began to cry again. Hotch moved onto the couch next to him and pulled him close. They stayed like that until Spencer fell asleep.

Hotch would never tell him that he was crying, too.


End file.
